


Check Ups

by eightminutes



Category: Fullmetal Alchemist: Brotherhood & Manga
Genre: M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-04-12
Updated: 2015-04-12
Packaged: 2018-03-22 11:42:03
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 551
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3727525
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/eightminutes/pseuds/eightminutes
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Winry's too perceptive, and Ed may have been too careless.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Check Ups

Winry stares long enough that Ed’s starts wondering what his automail must have done to offend her. And then he remembers that Winry considers automail a national treasure, so it must be him. And then he realizes that she’s blocking the closest route to the door, and starts calculating whether it would be worth it to leap frog over her, or if that’d just make it easier for her to slam the wrench into his crotch. 

“What  _is that_?” Winry demands before Ed can drown himself in his thoughts.

Ed gulps. “A… work of art by the most amazing mechanic on the planet?” he squeaks out. This is so bad. She has one hand on his leg and the other on the wrench. 

Winry rolls her eyes. “I  _know_  that, but what  _is that_?” 

Ed knows better than to roll his eyes back at her when she’s armed and in close-range, so he settles for a smile that’s one part placating and twenty parts terrified prey. 

“What is what, Winry?” he asks.

“ _This.”_ She points an accusatory finger at the joint of his knee. Ed squints at it, and besides the scratches, which he’ll probably pay for soon enough, nothing is out of place. 

Except…

“Oh fuck,” he says, and that really should have stayed in his head because he can see Winry’s hand tightening around the wrench. “Um… I have no idea what you’re talking about?”

Shit. 

“Wait, wait!” Ed brings his arms up, “I can explain!”

“Yes, you better,” she says.

“It’s…” Ed swallows. “It’s hair.”

Winry stares. Ed stares back. One of Winry’s nostrils flare. 

“On top of not oiling it everyday and swinging it around like a maniac, you manage to get  _hair_  caught up in it? And who’s hair is this? Unless you went through some dye-your-hair black phase you didn’t tell me about.”

Ed mumbles something.

“What?”

He’s going to die of embarrassment before he dies of blunt force trauma at this point. 

“It’s not my hair,” he says, looking away. 

Winry stands back with her hands on her hips. “Who has black hair?” Ed’s so screwed, so  _so_  screwed, and he can see his funeral on her face the second she gets it. Sometimes he wonders if they spend too much time together when he can recognize his own shit-eating grin on her face.

“Hmmm… I wonder what you guys were doing if you managed to get  _the Colonel’s_  hair caught in your leg,” she says.

“Not a colonel anymore,” Ed mutters, because there’s no point in denying it. Shit, he was so sure he managed to tug all the strands out after that incident. The mortification he feels doesn’t even make up for how funny it was to see Roy swaggering around Central with a bald spot on his head.

Okay, maybe a little.

But he definitely doesn’t deserve the vicious whack on the head from Winry’s wrench. 

“What?” he whines, clutching at his concussion. 

“Despite how funny this is and how much I’m going to remind you of it every opportunity I get,” Winry says, “this doesn’t make you any less of a  _little shit_!”

Ed manages to keep his mouth shut at the short-jibe because  _maturity_ , and maybe because he swears he can hear spinal fluid draining out of his ears.


End file.
